The Slayer Vanishes
by Kiana Maria
Summary: Stella isn't happy being the Slayer. Not very happy at all.


**Somewhere between Austria and France, 1933 **

* * *

"Everyone's looking at you."

"I don't care," the girl said, crossing her arms over her chest. It was hard to tell if she was really that grumpy or was simply making a face.

"At least finish your tea."

"I hate tea."

"Well, drink it anyway," I told her. "Duty first."

A waiter appeared at her side. "I hope Mademoiselle is all right?"

"I'm fine," Stella said. "And my _father _is fine. I love having tea with my _father_."

"Well, starve yourself, then," I said, and the waiter left.

She watched me eat, her green eyes darting back and forth. The train rumbled down the tracks, and through the windows of the dining car I saw the countryside pass us by.

"That was good," I said, wiping my mouth. "Shame yours went to waste."

She stood from her chair and stomped away from the table. I laid my napkin on my plate.

* * *

Walking down the corridor, I arrived at our compartment. The curtain had been pulled over the glass panel in the door. I tried the handle, but it wouldn't turn. "Stella," I called, rapping on the glass.

"I'm sorry," I said to a porter who happened to be passing by. "I'm afraid I don't have my key."

He extracted a large key ring from the pocket of his coat and silently unlocked the door. I pushed it open and saw my Slayer sitting in a velvet seat, looking out the window.

"That really was unnecessary," I said, sitting down.

She wouldn't speak, but kept her face turned towards the glass, as mountain after mountain passed us by.

I picked up my book. "There are worse hands you could have been dealt."

"Oh, those poor starving children in India. Whatever would we do if we didn't have them to feel more fortunate than?"

Her black curls bounced as the train moved along.

"You could be enjoying yourself," I told her. "It's unlikely that we'll meet any vampires on the train. So think of this as a holiday."

"There's a dead body on board."

"There is?"

Stella nodded. "I saw them carrying the coffin into the last car."

"So, you see? You're better off than that poor chap."

"No, I'm not," she mumbled, looking out the window.

* * *

An hour later, the sky had grown dark. I put down my book and saw my reflection in the glass. Stella had been sitting, nearly motionless, all the while.

"I'm going to the loo," she said, suddenly. She pulled open the door and left.

* * *

I woke with a start. Grasping in my pocket, I pulled out my watch. Three hours had passed. Stella had not come back.

I left our compartment and walked out into the corridor. It was empty and dark. The train sped through the night.

Stepping into the dining car, I saw two porters stacking dishes and folding table cloths. I crossed the room to the next corridor. There were four restrooms. The door of each was open, and each was empty.

A maid walked past, with an armful of sheets. I stopped her.

"I'm afraid I can't find my daughter."

"How old is she?"

"Nineteen," I said. "She has dark hair...a green dress..."

"I haven't seen her, sir." The maid walked on.

_Wherever she is, she's on the train_, I said to myself. _She can't have leapt from the train. Not even a Slayer would leap from a speeding train._

Stepping into the next corridor, I walked past curtained windows and closed doors. I opened the door to the next car. Off-duty porters and maids sat with sandwiches and drinks, their uniforms half-assembled. I peered through the window into the storage car. I saw a Shetland pony in a crate, several boxes, and a coffin. I turned around.

The corridor was dark as the train sped through the night. I found my way back to our compartment.

"Excuse me, sir."

A man, a gentleman with a handlebar mustache, stood before me. "I heard you say you lost someone..."

"Yes," I told him. "My daughter, Stella."

"Is she your daughter?" he asked. "Or is she your Slayer?"

* * *

His name was Sir Peter Sutherland, and his mother had been a Phillips. The Phillips family were an old and respected line of Watchers. Sir Peter sat across from me, in Stella's seat.

"You're not quite old enough to be her father," he said, smiling. "Uncle? Uncle might be better. Or even brother."

"In the old days, a Watcher simply married his Slayer."

"Yes," he said, laughing. "Thank goodness we don't live in the old days."

"It might have been easier," I said, as Sir Peter extracted a pipe from his coat. "Back then they did as they were told."

"A willful Slayer..." he said. "Must be nipped in the bud."

"Easier said than done," I told him. "After all, they _are_ stronger than us."

The train began to slow. Sir Peter blew smoke out of his mouth. "We'll be stopping at Gstaad."

* * *

I held my hat tightly to my head as the wind hit me. The railroad station was small and everything around me seemed to be made of pine trees. The mountains of Switzerland rose in the distance.

I stood back far enough to see the entire train. All of its exits were within my sight. As people and luggage moved about, I stood where I was. I couldn't allow Stella to escape the train. Sir Peter was guarding the other side.

From the last car, I saw a man climb down the stairs. Behind him was another man, and another. Between the three of them, they carried the coffin. I pulled my coat tightly around me as they pushed it into a waiting hearse.

* * *

"She hasn't left the train," I said. "Has she?"

"Not on my side," said Sir Peter. "Unless it happened when I blinked."

We settled down into my compartment.

* * *

The sky was dark again. The train slowed as we neared our last stop. The cathedrals of Calais came into view. Minutes later, we reached the station.

"Last stop!" shouted the conductor. "Everybody out!"

"My word," exclaimed Sir Peter. "We certainly don't have rude men like him in England."

"Shall we man the same stations?"

"Yes," he said. "Let's do."

* * *

Calais was warmer. I unbuttoned my coat as I stood before the train. Thoughts that Stella might be hurt or unwell found their way into my head. They were replaced by flashes of anger before I became calm again. Finding her was all that mattered.

Three-quarters of an hour later, the last passengers had left the train. The porters carried the remaining trunks and parcels into the station. The Shetland pony had been unloaded.

Sir Peter came 'round the engine. "Have we found her?"

I shook my head. "She hasn't left the train."

"Then she must be on board."

"I'll wait here," he said. "Just in case."

* * *

I climbed the steps onto the train. The first car was empty. Each door to each compartment was open. I peered into each one, finding nothing.

"Sir?"

I turned and found a porter walking to me. "Have you left something behind?"

"My daughter," I told him. "I can't find her anywhere."

"She can't be on the train. Everyone has left."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Has every inch been searched?"

"Yes, sir, of course," he said. "No one and nothing could have been left behind."

Outside again, I found Sir Peter. "I'm afraid that's it," I told him. "I'm history's worst Watcher. I've lost my Slayer."

* * *

Stella lay in the dark. She listened intently. Not a sound. Her arms were crossed over her chest. When she straightened her elbows, she felt the smooth satin fabric.

Using all her strength, she punched her fist through the fabric and the wood above it. She punched again, and the lid of the coffin broke apart. She sat up, and climbed out.

She looked around the Swiss funeral parlor. Bouquets adorned the empty room. The lights were off, but she could see fairly well in the dark.

"Marie, my darling wife," she read, glancing at a tag on a wreath of pink roses. So that had been the woman's name. The woman she had pulled from her coffin and thrown off the back of the train. She wondered what the mortician would tell Marie's husband about the empty, broken coffin and his wife's missing remains. Then she kicked open the door and left, happy with her new freedom.


End file.
